


The Paris Trip

by Bolt_DMC



Category: Bolt (2008)
Genre: Art, Chartres (City), Churches & Cathedrals, Conventions, F/M, Humor, Literature, Movie Reference, Music, Original Character(s), Paris (City), Post-Canon, Sad, Suggestive Themes, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:23:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt_DMC/pseuds/Bolt_DMC
Summary: It's off to the City of Light for Penny, her mom, and the pets for a TV-con appearance as guests of honor. Will Rhino accomplish his eccentric trip goals? Will Mittens be tempted to stay behind in Paris? Will Bolt enjoy the trip at all? Primary cultural references include Hector Berlioz's "Symphonie Fantastique," paintings such as "Mona Lisa" by Leonardo da Vinci and "The Raft of the Medusa" by Theodore Gericault, William Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream," the films "Casablanca" and "Roman Holiday," jazz selections by Thelonious Monk, and pop songs by Joni Mitchell, The Beatles, and Simon and Garfunkel. Plenty of Paris travelogue stuff, too.





	The Paris Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: July 2009.
> 
> For J., with all my love, and with whom I shared Paris.

1.

Penny, her mom, and the three pets were headed to France in a week. Their destination was Paris TV-Con, where Bolt and his master would sign autographs and meet fans of the show. As compensation for the studio fire that had nearly killed the girl and her dog, Penny and her family had received an extremely generous settlement upon leaving the show, allowing them not only to retire to the country in comfort, but also do appearances as the program’s ambassadors from time to time. This particular excursion was a no-brainer, one that would easily pay their trip expenses to what is arguably the world’s most remarkable city.

Mittens was listening to "Symphonie Fantastique" by Hector Berlioz. Penny’s mom had been a part-time high school teacher before the show's run, with a specialty in cultural appreciation. And as an indirect result of this, the cat had solidified her love of music courtesy of the older woman’s CD collection -- a strong sampling of classical selections along with some choice retro pop examples by folks as varied as the Beatles, Buddy Holly, Cream, Simon and Garfunkel, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and Joni Mitchell. Without question, Mittens welcomed the music right now, for she and the dog had just come from a stressful visit to the veterinarian for shots, a flea/tick dip, and various other travel-mandated tortures. The cat was taking it better than Bolt, though.

“Ow, ow, ow! Is there any place they didn't stick me with a needle?" whined the pooch as he walked gingerly through the room. "I feel like a pincushion. And on top of that, I smell like the back of an exterminator's truck."

A wry grin came over the cat’s face as she put her head in her paws and rolled her eyes. "My hero…" she quipped. She refocused her attention on the symphony -- one of the 19th century's best, the poster child for ardently ripe Romanticism though still well-grounded in sturdy structure. It’s an early example of a program symphony, inspired in this case by the visions of a lovesick artist who imagines the object of his affections as a melody, a tune recurring in various guises in all five movements. The symphony’s opening is a multi-faceted dream that emotively sets the table, followed in turns by a swirling waltz, a country scene both pastoral and ominous, a briskly intense scaffold march, and a luridly exciting witch’s-sabbath-finale nightmare. The love affair depicted may not end as hoped, but for the listener at least, the journey is well worth taking.

"Yeah," she thought. "Berlioz is just what I need right now."

2.

Upon their arrival at the hotel room, Penny’s mom said to her daughter, "I'll be busy on my laptop most of this trip, generating buzz and publicity for our session. I was surprised at the number of fan clubs the show has in Europe. You can help me out in the evenings, but I want you to get in a healthy dose of sightseeing on this trip as well. I think you’re old enough now to go on your own. Lots of great museums and churches and architecture and cemeteries and neighborhoods to experience. I took it all in just before starting college -- spent that whole summer backpacking through Europe. Definitely one of the highlights of my life, and got me started thinking about teaching, in fact. "

Penny gave her a big hug. "Aw, thanks mom,” the girl replied. "I'm sure I'll love it. Okay if I bring Bolt with me?"

"I was hoping you'd say that,” she said. "He’ll keep an eye on you as well as I could."

There wouldn't be time left for extensive sightseeing today, so Penny opted for a stroll with Bolt down the Champs Elysees. Probably the most famous street in France, it runs from the Arc de Triomphe to the Louvre. It's grand and wide, with spacious sidewalks lined with a row of thin trees and old-style street lamps on either side. It wasn't at all quaint, given the large number of pedestrians and the presence of numerous international chain stores like one might find in a mall, but still was enjoyable enough.

Penny and her dog soon reached the first intersection. The pooch could see that the light had changed and started to amble across, but that proved to be a major mistake. While Bolt could tell that the light had turned, he couldn't distinguish the color that had come up and assumed -- wrongly -- it was green. Cars screeched to a halt just short of the now panicked little shepherd, their occupants shouting in anger and blaring their horns. The dog ran back to the curb and jumped up onto his master, yelping with fright.

"Bolt!" the girl gasped. "You need to be more careful." Then she thought a minute. "Actually, I'm the one who needs to be more careful. I should've put you on a leash right away. I know it's not your favorite thing, but sometimes we have to do stuff we don't like. I'm sorry, buddy."

She pulled the tether from her backpack and attached one end to his collar. "Good. That should keep you safe. At least assuming I have enough sense not to cross against the light," she laughed.

They looked at the people in sidewalk cafes and goods for sale in the store windows. Penny was hoping to find an ice cream shop, which happily enough was in the next block.

"If my first year French is right, they've got frozen yogurt here. You can have that, Bolt. It shouldn't upset your stomach like regular ice cream," she said. "I'm getting the strawberry one, the one that says ‘fraise.’ Have a look in the case and show me which one you’d like."

While the pooch could read, French was entirely beyond his knowledge. The only words he halfway recognized were things like "chocolat" and "cafe" (which he knew dogs shouldn't eat), and every other alternative had the same blah, hueless look to it. Strawberry was not his first choice, so he'd have to guess. He put a paw on the glass in front of him on a random selection.

But when they stepped outside to partake, Bolt realized he hadn't opted wisely. While the dog could consume mint without problems had he wanted to, he discovered that he absolutely hated the taste and smell of the stuff. Penny was about halfway through her cup of strawberry when she saw the shepherd at her feet with a nearly uneaten lump of green between his front paws and a disappointed look on his face. "Here," the girl offered. "Take the rest of mine. I've had plenty."

Girl and dog continued along their way, Penny continuing to enjoy every minute while Bolt frowned fretfully.

Eventually, they reached the Tuileries, a lovely little park full of statues and loaded with flowers in riotous bloom. "So pretty!" the girl gushed, stopping at a large bed of tulips. They were a vibrant mix of reds, oranges, purples, pinks, and various pastel shades. While the surrounding odor was intriguing, it all just looked like a lot of undifferentiated muddiness to Bolt.

"I know there's something wonderful Penny’s seeing here, but I have no idea what it is," the dog thought. "And we're going to a museum tomorrow? Now I wish I’d just stayed home. This is no fun at all." He hung his head sadly.

The girl turned towards another part of the garden, but when she pulled on the leash, Bolt sat in place refusing to budge and staring dejectedly at the sidewalk. "C’mon, boy," Penny called, but to no avail.

It took her a few minutes to guess what might be wrong, but then it hit her. "He probably can't see how nice the flowers are. That's got to be it," she thought. She then remembered something she had brought from home, something that would be a nice surprise for Bolt when they went to the Louvre tomorrow. "Too bad I didn't think to bring it with me today," the girl said.

Penny decided she'd had enough sightseeing for now anyway. "Let's go, Bolty," she said, trying to cheer the dog up. "We’ll go back to the hotel, and I'll give you something really yummy for dinner. You may not think so, but I’ve got a feeling you'll enjoy the museum tomorrow. More than you think."

3.

Next morning, an eager Penny and her crestfallen pooch stood outside the Louvre, one of the largest art museums in the world.

"Whoa!" she gasped to the little shepherd. "I’d heard this was a big place, but still, I didn't realize just how big. There's got to be a million paintings in there. Boy, am I glad we got a chance to enter early."

Yes, they were an hour or so ahead of opening time -- being an ex-television star had its advantages sometimes. That went for Bolt, too, who would get a chance to go somewhere dogs weren't normally allowed. The museum guard smiled as he checked Penny’s ID at the door. Not that he really needed to, since he was a devoted fan of the show's earlier days and recognized her instantly -- but rules are rules.

"Bolt, I have a surprise for you, something that I think will help you appreciate this place so much more," said the girl. The shepherd cocked his head and gave an inquisitive look. "It's a prototype. It fits over your ears and if it works right, you should be able to see colors just as well as I can. You’ll want it in here -- trust me. Now hold still." She took an odd-looking object out of her backpack that looked like an embellished pair of glasses and put it on him.

The pooch was astonished. "Oh, my dog -- everything looks so different!" he thought. His mood brightened considerably.

It proved to be the perfect time to try this out, too, as just a few yards away was one of the largest paintings either of them had ever seen, Theodore Gericault’s "Raft of the Medusa." Nearly as big as the barn door over at the neighbor’s farm, it depicts an emotive and dynamic scene of bedraggled and in some cases dying men shipwrecked on a ramshackle raft, many desperately trying to get the attention of a boat on the horizon. Girl and dog stood transfixed, delighting in its limited but still vibrant color range, the balance and thrust of the artwork's overall bent triangular composition, and the twisted and evocative portrayal of the men. Bolt, being a sensitive sort who hated to see people suffering, was if anything even more moved by the picture than his master. They spent nearly fifteen minutes there, Penny pointing out all the things she saw while the shepherd whined in approval.

"Okay, Bolty. We’ve got to zoom-zoom a little bit if we're going to get the ‘Mona Lisa’ to ourselves. I hear it’s wildly popular."

They found the famous Leonardo work easily enough. It was smaller than Penny had expected, but getting this close allowed them to catch lots of subtleties. Like the meticulously fine detail in the lady's face, clothing, hair, and hands. The simple but perfectly balanced feel of the subject. And the understated, misty effect of the background scene -- chiaroscuro, her mom had called it.

"So, big guy,” the girl asked. "I’m up for some more of this, but I don't want to bore you, either. Whaddya think?"

Bolt jumped and barked happily, then nuzzled the girl best he could in his new-fangled glasses. Being an obsessive sort, he was totally hooked, and if he couldn't experience every painting in this gigantic gallery, he sure wanted to try.

Penny giggled and mimicked a walking zombie. "Looks like I've created a monster!" she groaned in her best Dr. Frankenstein impression. "Great -- let's do this."

The two companions spent the whole glorious day savoring canvas after canvas. There were portraits of kings and religious figures. Shimmering, dreamy landscapes. Vivid, sparkling still lifes. Busy, vibrant crowd scenes of royalty, gods, soldiers, and peasants alike. Famous stories from Greek mythology and the Bible. It stretched from room to room in an almost endless sea of wonder. They only stopped for the occasional brief vending machine snack, continuing unabated until closing time.

And this was just the start. Every morning, a now reenergized Bolt would plop the rather well-worn Paris travel book open onto the floor, intently study what had randomly been uncovered, put his paw on an art museum entry that looked good, and bark happily.

"Hmmm, the Musee d’Orsay?" mused Penny. "Okay." The vibrantly colored Impressionist canvases of Monet, Renoir, and Degas as well as the gorgeous post-Impressionist works by Van Gogh, Matisse, and Cezanne were worth the trip alone.

"The Picasso Museum? Gee, it might be a little beyond me. But let's try it." Penny and Bolt found that they liked Cubism, Surrealism, and Blue Period equally well.

"The Orangerie? Kind of a small place. Tell you what, we’ll hook it alongside a couple other tourist sites, okay pal?" Yes, it was small, but also amazing -- the humongous Monet water lily canvases were enough to get lost in.

"Pompidou Center? Huh. Modern art. You're sure about this, Bolty? Might be too weird for us simple country folks." Turned out that country folks (and dogs) really dug Primitivism, Futurism, Pop Art, and Abstract Expressionism as much as they do the long ball in America's pastime. As a bonus, the building itself, with all its guts showing on the outside, was a hoot -- as was the whimsically bizarre Stravinsky Fountain nearby.

4.

Rhino’s goals on this trip were two: spend quality time at the TV-Con and go to a cathedral to see -- and yes, to hear -- gargoyles. Having watched Disney’s "Hunchback of Notre Dame" a couple times had left him convinced such stone carvings were capable of speech.

The hamster’s primary wish was easy to fulfill as the convention hall was directly across the street from the hotel where they were staying. Rhino hopped inside his plastic ball and rolled into the venue, dodging past lots of folks sporting a t-shirt, cap, pin, or badge that betrayed their passion of choice as well as a few die-hards in fursuits or Trekkie/Babylon 5 style regalia.

Bolt’s television show may have jumped the shark and pretty much run its course, but it still maintained a rabid fan base. In fact, there were two presentation areas wholly devoted to the show. "All right then," said Rhino to no one in particular. "My French is minimal, but maybe I can figure out what's on the agenda." Turned out the topics were listed in French and English, so his sketchy foreign language skills weren't tested.

The first consisted of quasi-scholarly presentations, each seeming to vie for the crown of most absurd:

"’Bolt’ and the Berlin Wall: the ideal metaphor."  
"Anti-feminism and ‘Bolt’: when a girl just isn't good enough."  
"’Bolt’ as analogy for China's arms build-up."  
"Freudian imagery in ‘Bolt’: sometimes a helicopter is just a helicopter."

"Pass," grumbled the hamster. "Desperate for topics, looks like."

If anything, the second "Bolt"-themed presentation set was worse. This was a tag-team reading of fanfiction, and as before, bilingual signs made the meanings clear:

"Dr. Calico and Penny’s dad: enemies, frenemies, or something else?"  
"The passion of the cats: Calico’s minions bond."  
"Why must I be a thug in love?"

Not to mention a self-styled "four-part trilogy:"

"Penny and Bolt share a special love."  
"Bolt turns human: he and Penny share a special love."  
"Penny turns into a dog: she and Bolt share a special love."  
"Penny and Bolt become aliens: together they share a love that’s out of this world."

Rhino wrinkled his nose in disgust and frowned. "Ewww! I'm sensing a theme here. They really need to do one of two things -- move the presentation to an adult theater or charge a shipping and handling fee on entry." The hamster winced at his painful play on words and decided to find other amusements.

Turned out he did so with no problem, returning each day to the convention. There were endless characters he recognized from television giving autograph sessions and meeting fans, presentations on killer video games based on every long-running series one could imagine, a workshop on how to construct your own furry costume, question-and-answer panel discussions, and paper readings that actually weren’t on ridiculous topics. And that didn’t even count the prime people-watching options.

He loved every minute.

5.

Meanwhile, Mittens was lost. Not hopelessly so -- she knew she was in Paris and had just crossed the river to the Left Bank. But she was trying to locate Sainte-Chapelle and had apparently taken the wrong bridge. The world-famous royal chapel was on an island, and this didn't seem right. "If I wanted to find a jazz club, I couldn't do any better," the cat said, looking around. "That's not on my sightseeing agenda, though."

"Lost, mademoiselle?" came a voice from the side doorway to one of the clubs. "Maybe I can be of assistance."

Mittens turned and saw a big black tomcat grinning at her. He wasn't a tuxedo cat like her, though, black as a licorice stick from nose to tail. He seemed friendly enough, so she crossed the street to where he sat.

"Why certainly, you big, strong, handsome thing," she drawled in an obviously fake Southern accent. "I've always depended on the kindness of strange cats, you know? And I do declare, you look mighty, mighty strange to me." She batted her eyelids exaggeratedly and held her mouth open in mock swoon.

The black kitty’s grin just got wider. "Ha, ha, ha! Damsels in distress are my favorite kind of damsel," he said, placing a paw on his chest in ersatz valor. "So, you hail from Dixie?"

"Nah," said Mittens in her normal voice. "But I've sipped mint juleps out of Dixie cups before. Does that count?"

"Sure, just give me a moment to drink it all in," replied the charming stranger. "So where are you headed, anyway?"

"Trying to find Sainte-Chapelle, though I think I shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque instead of Pont des Artes."

"Just one of my favorite places in the whole city," the tomcat grinned. "And you actually didn't stray too far off. It's just up a few blocks and across that bridge over there. I'd be glad to take you if you want. Oh, I didn't catch your name."

"I didn’t pitch it," she said. "You keen to guess?"

"Bien sur. Whenever I can't find my backgammon board, I'm always up for a rousing game of charades."

Mittens sat down, raising her front paws in the air with pads facing the black cat.

"Awwww, now what mean person named you Talk-to-the-Hand?" he joked.

She laughed. "Appropriate maybe, but no. Try again." This time, she stuck her thumbs out to the side while keeping her other digits together.

"Hmmm -- hands, paws, gloves… It’s got to be Mittens, right?"

"Very good," she replied. "And you are…?"

"…not one to keep a lady guessing. Berlioz, at your service," he responded gallantly.

"No way! I was just listening to ‘Symphonie Fantastique’ a couple days before flying over."

"Yup, I’m named after the composer," he said. "It's kind of a family tradition, actually. Best as I can tell, I’m technically Berlioz Jr. Jr. Jr. Jr. Jr. Jr. Jr. Jr.," he said, wrinkling his muzzle and fake-counting on his paw.

"Sounds like your family's got all the naming imagination of George Foreman's," giggled Mittens. "But sure, let's go find this place. Lead the way, maestro."

The walk to the island was short and the chapel was easy to find. "Mind if I go in with you?" asked Berlioz. "It's quite something to see, and I haven't been for a few years now."

"Sure," Mittens said. "Better get your tour guide cap on though, Professor. I want the inside scoop on this place."

"Well, it's pretty simple, really," Berlioz explained. "It's the stained glass upstairs that makes the chapel so special. But you'll see."

They snuck in with a small tourist group and bounded up the stairs. "Oh!" Mittens gasped. "It's so -- so -- BLUE! I've never seen a color quite like that in my life." She dropped onto her back, the better to bask in the gorgeous light.

The two cats spent nearly an hour enjoying the place, looking at the architectural features and reveling in the special blue glow.

Mittens licked a paw in thought. "That was really, really something. Thanks for showing me the way here."

Berlioz smiled. "Well, I don't want to keep you from your set itinerary."

"Ah, who said I had one?" chuckled Mittens. "You know of any other remarkable places a naïve American tourist like me should experience?"

"Only about a million of them," purred Berlioz. "Come with me, I'll show you."

And over the next several days, Berlioz did just that. He and Mittens explored neighborhoods like the upscale bohemian Latin Quarter and now-touristy Montmartre, parks like the flower-filled Tuileries and eccentric Parc Monceau, churches like flamboyant Notre Dame Cathedral and strangely onion-domed Sacre Coeur, imposing edifices like the staid Pantheon and glittering Invalides, architectural highlights like the spiky-steely Eiffel Tower and serene Place de Vosges and grandiose Arc de Triomphe, plus quiet cemeteries like Pere Lachaise and Montparnasse (the latter being the burial place for Berlioz’s namesake). Through much of it, Mittens appropriately enough had "Free Man in Paris" -- a soaring, exhilarating, jazz-tinged song by Joni Mitchell about a harried man longing for the excitement of exploring this great city -- buzzing though her head.

6.

At Montparnasse Cemetery, the cats rested in a quiet spot not far from the great composer's tomb. "So Professor, what's your story? A girl’s got a right to know more about her escort. I'd really be interested," said Mittens.

"I guess it's not all that complicated, maybe even a little interesting," he began. "I was a shelter rescue as a youngster. My human’s name is Jacques, and he's a jazz pianist. Plays in the house quintet at Chez Chaume Jazz Club. He's a sweetheart, too -- really nice to me, treats me great. Only problem is, he's not allowed to have pets where he lives, so I have to stay at the jazz club. And I'm lucky to be there -- they bent the rules to let me do so, kind of -- how would you say it in English? -- grandfathered me into the place. Jacques is at the club a lot anyway, practicing piano or rehearsing with the combo. I lie on the piano when he plays -- kind of his good luck charm, you know? Love when he reaches over to pet me when he takes a breather, and the music is great. Jazz is my passion."

"Great story. I'm really glad you've got yourself a good setup. Jacques sure sounds like he cares for you a lot. Do you play any piano?" she asked.

Berlioz nodded. "Sure, when the piano is free. I'm not as good as he is, of course, but I do my best. Hey, why don't we head back to the club and I'll do a kitten-on-the-keys special for you?"

"I'd like that," was the response. "It'll be good to get back to the land of the living, anyway."

There was no rehearsal going on, so the two cats had the club to themselves. "So Berlioz, I'm new to this jazz stuff. Who do you like best?"

"Ah -- so many great names: Satchmo, Duke, Dizzy, Coltrane, Mingus, Miles, Bird…"

"Yeah, I can't imagine any cat who wouldn't go for Bird, eh?" Mittens quipped. They both laughed at that one.

"Of course, it's the pianists that speak most to me: Bill Evans, Bud Powell, Oscar Peterson…" His voice trailed off. "But if I could only pick two, it’d be Art Tatum and Thelonious Monk. Tatum’s incredible, does the impossible, amazing technique. I couldn't perform like him if I tried -- would need paws as big as the Nemean Lion. Now Monk, he’s more manageable for me. How about if I play a little of his stuff for you?"

"Let me have it, maestro. I'm all ears," said Mittens eagerly.

Berlioz sat at the keyboard and began. First was "Straight, No Chaser," a bouncy up-tempo melody featuring a meandering upward chromatic figure with a punctuated chord ending, repeated liberally. He extemporized on this a bit, then jumped right into "Evidence." It's probably the oddest of Monk’s tunes, a collection of jagged, hard-punched, isolated chords, dissonant and syncopated, with the occasional long-held note or fragmented snippet interspersed. Berlioz growled the underlying beat while he played, providing a kind of counterpoint to the piano shards. He brought it all up through an extended improvisation to a pounded climax. After a brief pause, he shifted gears once more, playing the low-key ballad "’Round Midnight," the jazz great’s most famous utterance. It's much smoother, but still quirky, with a quick run landing on a long note, repeated a few times before heading into the main and soulful, yet slightly stumbling melody. The cat played a few improvised variants and smoothed the whole thing out into quiet repose.

"Wow," purred Mittens when he had finally finished. "You’re good! I’m beyond impressed. Thanks for sharing with me."

The next day, while sunning at Parc Monceau, Berlioz asked Mittens to return the life story favor. She hesitated, but told him everything. How her awful first owners had kicked her -- declawed -- onto the streets of New York, forcing her to scramble for survival. How this crazy dog, the world’s most intense and clueless television star, had dragged her across the country and improbably become her best friend. How they had met Rhino, bizarre but fearless, deluded but surprisingly savvy, and became a close-knit group of three. How Bolt had hurt her so badly by refusing to stay with her in Las Vegas after she had tried to set up a life together for them. He had to keep going, to find his human. But despite a few initial glitches, it all ended up great -- the three of them are now in the best home ever, loved deeply and well cared for by Penny and her mom.

The two cats lay silent for a while, Berlioz wiping his eyes. "My poor Mittens. I had no idea. I’ve heard some poignant tales in my day, but nothing to match this. I'm so sorry." He touched her paw warmly.

"It's okay, Professor," she said. "It all turned out great. Sure had to earn my happy ending, though. I guess it just makes the outcome taste all the sweeter after you chow down on a big, bitter mouthful."

They got up and strolled leisurely for the exit.

7.

It was their last sightseeing day before they had to pay the bills. Penny’s mom insisted they weren’t leaving Paris without a day trip to Chartres. "You'll remember the cathedral there for the rest of your life."

"Wow -- even more than Notre Dame or Sainte-Chapelle? They were pretty special," she had said at the time.

"Stake my reputation as a former high school cultural appreciation teacher on it."

They all stood before the cathedral after their commuter train ride. Two spires from two different time periods? Somehow, it worked, balanced and not.

Each portal on the church’s sides got its due, and they were beyond splendid. Dog, cat, hamster, human -- didn't matter what you were, the sculpture resonated with them in some way. The Resurrection, The Seven Liberal Arts, The Apocalypse, The Ascension of Christ, The Labors of the Months -- sacred and secular alike were depicted in lovingly detailed stone carvings that must have taken up a lifetime of several master craftsmen.

Then, inside. Bolt whined for glasses, and Penny clipped them on him. The stained glass here was truly remarkable, not the beautiful monochrome blue of Sainte-Chapelle but a riot of Bible stories told in glorious mixed hues.

The dog stood next to Mittens, slowly turning around the space to look at every last pane.

"What's that contraption you’re wearing? You auditioning to be Geordi La Forge on the new ‘Star Trek: The Next Generation’ film installment?" asked the cat.

"Mittens, you've got to see this. It's incredible," said Bolt intently. "These glasses are a prototype, and they let me experience colors just like humans do. Hey, tell you what -- why don't you try them?"

The cat looked at him dubiously, but lifted the contraption off the dog and put it on herself -- and her eyes opened as wide as a Kansas prairie. Colors she’d never seen before flooded her vision. She could see Sainte-Chapelle blue, but this -- this was something else again.

"Oh -- my -- dog!" she gasped. "Give the genius who came up with this thing the Nobel Prize! You know, you're not getting these back without a fight, don’tcha?"

Bolt laughed. "We’ll take turns, kiddo."

Rhino rolled between his two art-struck pals. "This place is bey-awesome!" he shouted.

"Agreed. So what do you like so much about it?" asked the dog.

The hamster was just shy of hyperventilating with excitement. "This would be a great place for a final showdown Transformers battle!"

Bolt and Mittens froze and shot a look at each other. Wow -- didn't see that reaction coming. Different strokes, I guess, they thought.

"So, where’s the elevator to the roof around here, anyway? I came here to see gargoyles, and gargoyles I shall see. I sure hope they’re the talking kind like in the ‘Hunchback’ movie," he said to the little shepherd.

"I think it's over there, Rhino. But you know, gargoyles can’t talk. They’re made of stone."

"Pish-tosh and fie," the rodent sniffed. "I saw it on TV. It's got to be real. I just know it is."

"Well, suit yourself," Bolt replied. "I think the elevator's going up soon, so you’d better hurry."

Rhino rolled in with seconds to spare. "’Scuse me, coming though, ‘scuse me, got gargoyles to see," he said, though it just came out as squeaks to his fellow lift riders.

The elevator opened on the roof area of the church, and a plastic ball whirled through the door. "’Scuse me, coming through, ‘scuse me, got gargoyles to see." Rhino bounced along in his sphere until he found his goal. Above was a row of carved, bizarre stone creatures sporting fearsome horns, fangs, wings, claws, and snouts, some combining several of these. "My quest, my quest has been fulfilled!" he exulted.

To his great joy, they even appeared to be talking to each other! What he didn't see however was the line of pigeons further up; Chartres may be a modest town, but among the local avian population, the Chartres Pigeon Theater Company was legendary, putting on plays with a specialty of Shakespeare in the original English. In fact, they were running through next week’s show now.

Despite Rhino’s penchant for watching action flicks and sci-fi shows, he had developed an appreciation for finer fare as well, and the Bard had become a favorite. "It's the Mechanical's play from ‘Midsummer Night's Dream’. Funny, funny stuff!" He listened rapt while the birds hammed up the old Pyramus and Thisbe play-within-a-play complete with talking wall, moon, and lion, taking full advantage of the characters' laughable incompetence. To humans, it was just a lot of frenzied cooing, but the hamster knew better -- at least up to a point.

"Oh yeah, I better start heading back," he finally said. "I'll bet their guided tour of the church is about up. Don't want to be left behind." He spun off to the elevator, just catching it in time.

The little group exited the cathedral, beginning the trek back to the train station.

"So, Rhino, did you find your gargoyles?" asked Bolt.

The hamster’s grin was nearly as wide as his face. "Sure did. And they were talking, too! Ye of little faith -- shows what you know."

Mittens and Bolt flashed each other a look. "What were they doing? Swapping knock-knock jokes, maybe?" chuckled the cat.

"No, no, no! These guys were really class acts. They were doing Shakespeare. ‘Midsummer Night's Dream,’ too." Rhino’s earnestness caught his friends even further off guard.

"Really? No, it can't be…" the dog said.

Just then a flock of pigeons flew overhead, singing Puck’s final soliloquy set to music:

If we shadows have offended,  
Think but this, and all is mended,  
That you have but slumbered here…

"No, no, no, wait, start again. Henri, you were flat and rushing ahead. Let's try it one more time…" With that, the birds soared out of earshot.

Mittens and Bolt let the hamster roll on ahead a bit. "I think I know where his talking gargoyles came from," whispered the cat.

"Yeah, me too. Think we should tell him?" the pooch asked.

"Nah. Sometimes you gotta leave your best friend’s balloons unpopped. Won't hurt him any to believe it."

Bolt raised a paw in mock seriousness. "I am sworn to secrecy, my liege."

8.

A successful day was had at TV-Con. Penny’s hand had nearly cramped up from all the glossies she had signed, and Bolt’s foot would likely remain blackened for some time after all the paw-print "autographs" he had given out. But it was kind of fun to be fussed over by fans again, at least for a day. Mittens ducked out early, though. She had promised Berlioz a final get-together tonight. Besides, she wasn’t a star from the show and had little incentive to stick around.

It was evening by now and the two cats walked quietly along the Paris streets, finally reaching Jardin de Luxembourg, a lovely park with a large pool and fountain. They lay by the water's edge, looking at the darkening sky.

"Berlioz, can I ask you something?" said Mittens.

"Sure," he replied. He had been unusually quiet.

"How do I put this? I -- I don't know. We've had a great time together, but I’ve been kind of feeling a -- a connection with you. Maybe my sense of these things is a little rusty, but I’m not usually…" she trailed off.

"No, no -- you’re right. It's just -- well, after I heard your story, with all the pain and abandonment you've experienced, I’ve been hesitating. We can't make a life together or anything, given our situations. And the last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"You’re sweet, Berlioz. I mean it. I understand why now. I don't have any illusions, though -- I know how it is. I’m a grownup -- heck, had a few dalliances in my New York alley cat days back when. But if you feel all right about it, so do I. No regrets, okay?"

He nodded and smiled. "No regrets."

Later, Berlioz and Mittens lay in the grass, looking up at the stars. Mittens had "And I Love Her" by the Beatles floating dreamily through her head. Warm, hushed, a quietly heartfelt declaration of love. Perfect, really.

The two cats padded back to where Mittens was staying. It was late, and the city's streets were uncharacteristically deserted. A few blocks away, a church’s bells chimed softly. They walked past the closed storefronts, not sure what to say to each other. Neither was in any hurry to say goodbye, so they took their time. Eventually, they reached the hotel entrance.

Mittens spoke first. "Professor, as much as I loved the movie ‘Roman Holiday,’ I never thought I'd get to live it for real, not to mention in the wrong city. Exhilarating, but… sad too."

Berlioz smiled wistfully. "To top it all off, you even have the same sweet waiflike presence Audrey Hepburn did. But to quote another of my favorite films," he said touching her on the chin tenderly, "We’ll always have Paris."

She nodded. She’d seen "Casablanca" too, a few times. "You made my trip really special, and I’ll never forget you."

"Nor I," came the reply. "It was my pleasure." They softly bonked heads like affectionate cats do, then hugged for a long time.

"Bye," she whispered, then dashed inside. She didn't want his last look at her to be a face full of tears.

9.

Warm, quietly impassioned, almost unbearably sad. "For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her" by Simon and Garfunkel almost drowns in its poetically artsy lyrics -- but not quite. And it was the absolutely last song Mittens wanted to carry around with her as an earworm. The spent group of travelers was in a taxi on the long drive to the airport, with the three pets alone in the farthest back seat. Rhino was quietly napping. But Bolt was wide awake, looking at the cat and wrinkling his brow.

"You’ve had this far-away look for the last couple days now, Mittens. And that's not usually your style." He pondered further before adding, "What's gotten into you anyway?"

Mittens couldn't help breaking into a mischievous smile. Heh -- sometimes the funniest jokes are unintentional. "No worries," she finally replied. "When we get home, I’ll dish all the dirt to you, even the best parts. Who knows? You might even get a great romance novel out of it." Then she sighed. "Right now, though, I kinda want to… you know, keep my thoughts to myself. You understand, right?"

The dog put his paw on Mittens’s shoulder and pulled her into a caring, furry-chested hug. "Sure, no problem. You’ll tell me when the time is right."

Sitting there, enveloped by the warm pooch, the cat managed another smile. "I’ve got a great home at last -- and I feel loved, with two of the best friends you could ask for," she thought. "Especially this loveable lug with his paw around me. Yeah, it was hard, but this is the right place for me."


End file.
